


Summer Vacation

by Lovedmoviesb, msdoomandgloom



Series: Love in the Time of Richonne: A Collection of Historical AUs [3]
Category: The Walking Dead, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, Collaboration, F/M, Grimes 2.0, Richonne - Freeform, Soulmates, Summer, Surfing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-08-23 15:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20244910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovedmoviesb/pseuds/Lovedmoviesb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdoomandgloom/pseuds/msdoomandgloom
Summary: Rick Grimes wanted a quiet summer by the beach with his kids. What he didn’t count on was their stunning neighbor.





	1. Beach House

It was worth all of the inconvenience, Rick decided, when he saw Judith’s smile as the Atlantic came into view. It had been her idea after all, articulated as only a 4-year-old could.

“Daddy, where is the ocean?” she had asked him two weeks ago. Clutched in her fist had been a wrinkled sheet of paper, their family rendered in bright Crayola tones. It was Rick, Carl, and Judith, standing on a tan strip of beach in front of blue triangles. That little crayon drawing had moved something in Rick, and perhaps in Carl too. Before they knew it, Carl had the family laptop open on the kitchen table. They’d plotted a course, secured a room, and two days before school had even let out, Rick had the whole of his family loaded in his truck, headed down the road for the Carolinas.

Their rented beach house had seen better days, but no member of the Grimes family really minded. Carl and Judith went streaking off from the truck the moment Rick put on the brakes. Sand kicked up behind them as they squealed in delight, shouting eagerly about sand castles, bonfires, and the potential to make s’mores just inches from the ocean.

Rick had to admit it had charm, if not air conditioning. They weren’t inside much anyway. A week of long days in the sun and long nights by the sea stretched around them. Carl and Judith turned bright red despite Rick’s best efforts, but the sunburns didn’t get in the way of their fun.

“Carl, watch your sister,” Rick cautioned.

“I got her, dad,” Carl promised, taking Judith’s hand. Together, they picked their way down to the beach, the waves licking at their toes. Rick grinned, pulling on his shades, and sat back in his plastic chair.

Lori hadn’t been much of a beach person, or an outdoor person at all. His former wife much preferred the sanctity of urban spaces, planning vacations to Atlanta and New York City. They’d had fun carting Carl around in his stroller, wandering museums and malls hand-in-hand. As time went on, vacations came less frequently, fading away with long hours at work, with late-night arguments, with an unexpected pregnancy. And when Lori got sick-- Well, a lot of things had stopped then.

“Dad!” Carl called for him, snapping Rick out of his stroll down memory lane. “Come get in with us.”

Judith ran back and forth between the waves, jumping and splashing in delight. Rick grinned at his kids.

“Yeah, son,” he stood up. “I’m coming.” Rick pulled his t-shirt over his head before sprinting headlong for the water. Carl tackled him gleefully into the sand.

They went down in a frenzy of laughter and limbs, sputtering as salt water slapped into their eyes. Judith rushed to Rick’s defense, splashing at her brother until the trio was laughing themselves into stitches.

“Someone is having a good morning,” a melodic voice, unfamiliar but pleasant, broke through the ruckus.

Rick glanced up through salt-soaked eyelashes at the woman entering the water. She was holding a surfboard under one arm, her wetsuit pulled down to her waist. Her dark skin glowed in the morning sun, offset by a bright purple bikini top. The long locs of her hair were piled high atop her head in a tight bun.

“Hi,” it was Judith who intoned brightly, glancing up at the stranger with friendly curiosity.

“Hi yourself,” the woman said back. “I’m Michonne.”

“I’m Judes,” Judith used her nickname. “And that’s Carl, and that’s our Daddy.” She pointed at each in turn.

Sand-streaked and breathless, Rick clambered to his feet, extending a hand. “Rick,” he greeted.

Michonne shifted her board beneath her other arm, shaking his palm. “Pleasure,” she smiled. “Are you staying for the summer?” she asked.

“We are,” again, it was Judith, over-eager and delighted to answer. “Are you?”

“I am,” Michonne grinned at the little girl. “My house is right up there.” She pointed.

“We’re neighbors,” Rick observed. The thought made his pulse speed up for some reason.

“Looks like it,” Michonne turned her gaze on him. She had wide, round, dark eyes. “Maybe we can team up on a bonfire sometime soon.”

“Maybe,” Carl said. He was looking up at the woman with slight trepidation.

“Nice to meet you all,” Michonne said. She sat her board down to pull up the sleeves of her wetsuit. In seconds, she was gone, her surfboard beneath her as she paddled out expertly towards the break.

“She’s nice,” Judith declared, already bending over to poke at seashells beneath the surface.

“What’d you think, Carl?” Rick asked his uncharacteristically quiet son.

Carl only shrugged. He was still watching her though, his expression unreadable.

“She’s pretty,” Judith announced this factually. “Huh, Daddy?”

Rick kept his opinion on this to himself, privately disagreeing. Plenty of things in this world were pretty. The surfing neighbor of theirs went way past pretty. “C’mon,” he splashed at his kids. “I thought we were having a water war.”

Carl and Judith collapsed in an exhausted pile around lunchtime. Rick sat in his chair just beside them, watching as they drifted off to sleep atop their towels, PB&J sandwiches half-eaten around them. He moved the umbrella to shade them before reaching for the sunscreen bottle. He was slathering his face when he spotted Michonne coming up the beach, drenched and exhilarated.

“How was it?” Rick was talking to her before he even registered the impulse, eagerly awaiting her response.

She flashed him a brilliant smile. Her skin seemed to glow in the light of the afternoon as she tugged the wetsuit down again. “It was great,” she said, walking closer to him. “Do you surf?”

Rick shook his head. “Not so much. I tried it a couple of times when I was younger, but--” He wasn’t sure why he’d stopped, but he simply had.

Michonne nodded. “Well, if you ever want to get out there again, I have a few extra boards at my house.”

Rick laughed, glancing down at his sleeping kids. “Thanks, but someone has got to watch these two.”

Michonne smiled at the sight of them. Judith was sprawled half across her brother. Carl’s face was covered entirely by a wide-brimmed hat.

“Well,” Michonne began again. “If the kids want to learn, they’re welcome to come too.” She smiled at Rick. “Stop by anytime.”

“Thank you,” Rick was grinning like an idiot at her now, but he couldn’t help himself. Grinning was better than staring at the way she looked in that bathing suit of hers. He did his best not to watch her traipse back up the beach.

The next morning, Rick took the kids outside, shouting at them to put on sunscreen and eat something. His arms were filled with breakfast, apples and peanut butter, an easy solution to their picky appetites. Their neighbor was on her porch, sipping on something warm in a mug. She waved at him.

“You’re up early,” she observed with a dimpled smile. She turned her gaze to his children, spinning and playing in the sand already.

“No rest for the weary,” he deadpanned. It felt nice to smile at a pretty face first thing in the morning. “Hungry?” he asked, holding up a red apple.

Her smile grew larger. She happily accepted the treat, offering him coffee in return. “Something tells me you’ll need the energy,” she joked, watching Carl and Judith sprinting up and down the beach between the ocean and the front stairs.

“What was your first clue?” Rick asked.

She smiled, patting the space beside her. Rick happily sat down, sipping the coffee.

It became their ritual of sorts, these little snippets of conversation. Some mornings, Michonne was already on the water, some mornings she was still in what looked like pajamas, her locs arranged in a messy knot on her head. She liked her coffee black, which suited Rick just fine. He leaned against her porch, listening to her describe the surf report of the day, what the weather might be, or some current headline. Rick wasn’t concerned with the details. The sound of her voice was enough to get his days started off on the right foot.

He brought her things, apples, cereal, toast with honey. She always gratefully accepted. Judith was sold on her already, eagerly awaiting the five minutes every morning where she could follow Michonne around, asking questions. Carl was less talkative. Still, his eyes watched their neighbor often, especially when she was out in the distance, surfing.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Rick ventured one day, sitting beside his son in the sand.

Carl looked embarrassed to be caught. He shrugged. “It’s ok.”

“I used to surf a little, with your uncle Shane,” Rick told him.

This surprised Carl. He turned to his dad with interest. “Were you good?”

“I was getting there,” Rick and Shane had spent most of their summers formulating plots to make it out of King’s County and to the beach.

“Why’d you stop?” Carl asked.

This time it was Rick who shrugged. “Got busy with other things.”

“Like us?” Carl asked.

Rick paused at this. “You guys are way more fun than surfing,” he answered, grinning at his son.

Carl nodded, still staring at Michonne. In the distance, she stood on her board, steering expertly across head high waves. “It does look fun,” Carl admitted cautiously.

“You know,” Rick stretched his legs in front of him. “Michonne said she would teach us. Think you might want to learn?”

Carl considered this. “Would we all go?” he asked.

“Of course,” Rick clasped his son’s shoulder. “All three of us.”

“Maybe we ask her…” Carl suggested. “She seems nice.”

“I’ll ask,” Rick grinned. They both stared out into the distance. In front of them, Judith busied herself with sand castle construction.

It was half a fort by the time Michonne returned to the beach. Judith stood above her brother and father, doling out directions. Rick was on trench duty, shielding their creation from the waves. Carl was making towers a foot high.

“Wow,” Michonne whistled when she approached them. “That’s some castle, Judes.”

Judith beamed at her new friend. “It needs decorations,” she said.

“Maybe some seashells?” Michonne suggested. She opened her palm, offering a coral-colored clamshell. Judith seized it with a shout of delight.

“Are there more?” she asked.

Michonne nodded. “Do you have a bucket?” Judith eagerly dove for it. Michonne looked at Rick. “I can take her, if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead,” Rick nodded. Michonne had gone without a wetsuit today. The expanse of flawless dark skin bare to his view was threatening to turn him into a simpleton. Surfing had done her body good. She was all curves and muscle, framed in long dark hair and a blinding smile. Rick became suddenly aware that he was covered in sand again, on his knees in a child’s sandcastle.

“Carl,” Michonne offered kindly. “Would you like to come with us?”

Carl looked nervous, but Judith immediately seized his hand. “C’mon,” she shouted, dragging him with her.

“Have fun,” Rick called after them.

He watched as they splashed in the shallows. Judith’s enthusiasm was catching. Michonne was patient with his children, showing them how to spot the shells beneath the sand, categorizing them and sorting the prettiest into Judith’s bucket. Even Carl smiled a time or two.

“They like you,” Rick told Michonne later that night. They’d started a bonfire between their houses. Carl and Judith stood on the outskirts, constructing s’mores with dutiful concentration.

“I like them,” Michonne flashed that smile again. Rick grinned back.

“Carl was watching you surf earlier. I think he might like to learn,” Rick said.

Michonne sat beside him in a beach chair to match his own. She buried her toes in the sand in front of them. From the cooler beside her, she retrieved two cans of beer, cracking open one, then the other. She handed Rick one. “He’s a thinker, your son,” she observed.

Rick took a gulp, watching as Carl helped Judith load marshmallows onto the pronged end of a skewer. “He’s been like that since their mom passed.” He didn’t mean to say it, but it came out nonetheless.

Michonne froze a beat, then nodded, sipping her own drink. A silence lingered between them, charged and heavy. Rick held his breath. Michonne spoke at last. “I think he’ll like surfing,” she said. “Will you come too?”

“I’ll be there,” he raised his can, exhaling.

Michonne clinked hers against his, smiling again.

“Michonne?” Carl’s voice startled them. He was carrying a small paper plate, a goopy, giant s’more loaded atop it. “We made this for you,” Carl offered, handing it to her.

“Thank you,” Michonne exclaimed as though Carl had gifted her a diamond tennis bracelet. She took a healthy bite, moaning delightedly around the treat. Carl smiled. Rick found himself staring at Michonne’s lips as she licked at the sugar. He flushed, averting his eyes.

“It’s good?” Carl asked tentatively.

“It’s great,” Michonne responded, taking another bite. “Do you know what kind of chocolate I like to make them with?” she asked.

“No,” Judith skipped over, refusing to be excluded. “What?”

“Big Kats.”

Carl’s eyes lit up. “Those are my favorite.”

“Mine too!” Judith yelled. She began sorting the marshmallows and chocolate in their bowl, counting the sweets under her breath.

Michonne popped a bit of graham cracker between her full, curved lips. “Maybe we can walk to the market and get some tomorrow after surfing.” She looked at Rick for confirmation. Rick winked at her.

Carl looked enthused by the mere suggestion. “Ok,” he agreed seriously. He scampered away, tugging Judith with him, riling her up about the crabs that popped out of their sandy holes after sunset.

Michonne lingered at the fire with Rick, watching his children shout happily up and down the beach.

“How are they doing?” she asked simply.

Rick’s heart stuttered. “They’re…doing good all things considered.”

She nodded, looking as though she believed it. “And you?” she questioned.

Rick hesitated. “It’s been hard,” he admitted. Some days he missed Lori, missed what they had been in the beginning. Some days he didn’t think of her at all. Worst were the days where he remembered the fights, the cruel barbs, her voice when she berated him. Those old hurts opened when he least expected it, when he saw a shadow of her expression cloud Carl’s face, or heard Judith start to argue with her brother. “What about you?” he turned the subject from him, eager to discuss anything else.

“Me?” Michonne uncrossed her legs, leaning closer to him over her chair. “What is it you want to know about me?” she asked.

“Everything,” the word rushed out and Rick blushed immediately, mortified. Michonne only smiled.

“Well, that’s a lot to cover in one night,” she teased.

Rick grinned lopsidedly at her. “Good thing we’re here for the summer,” he reminded her.

She was a lawyer, Rick learned, for a big firm, but she spent her weekends working pro bono for families who needed legal counsel in Charleston. Michonne said this all casually, as though millions of people did this sort of thing, turned money aside to pursue the common good.

“What do you do?” she asked him, cracking another beer. She was folded prettily into her lawn chair, her bare legs twisted together against the ocean breeze. Rick watched goosebumps dance across her skin and resisted the urge to smooth them away with his hands.

“I’m a sheriff,” he told her, clearing his throat. “Or… I was.”

“Retired?” she asked.

Rick took a deep gulp of the lukewarm beer. “I took a break. My wife, she used to stay at home with the kids. And when she…” he swallowed, suddenly unable to look at her. “Well, they needed someone there. So, I’m home now.”

Michonne looked at him. The dying embers of the bonfire sent shadows dancing across her features. It was a stunning face, one that Rick thought about often, more now than he did about Lori’s. He felt a sting of guilt at that, at the familiar pang of wrongs he had never managed to right.

“How long has it been?” Michonne asked gently.

“A year and a half,” Rick answered. It had actually been 524 days, but he thought it best not to disclose the specifics.

“Is this your first trip since then?” Michonne questioned.

Rick nodded, throat tight. “Judith suggested it. We just sort of picked up and came.”

Michonne nodded thoughtfully. “You know, I used to come here all the time as a kid. I stopped though, with college, then the job. Then there was a man,” she sighed, smiling somewhat wistfully. “This is my first summer back.”

“Really?” Rick’s brows jumped. “He didn’t like the beach?”

She laughed. “He didn’t like much, but I liked him. Life’s funny sometimes.”

“Ain’t it?” Rick saluted her with his half-full beer. “Where’s this guy now?” he pressed.

Michonne’s answering glance made him sure that she knew his intentions weren’t totally honorable. Still, she answered. “He’s around somewhere,” she waved her hand. “We don’t cross paths anymore.”

The answer was enough for Rick, though he wondered briefly what kind of man was stupid enough not to fight for the woman in front of him. “I’m glad you’re out here,” Rick told her, cheeks flushing again. He hoped she wouldn’t be able to see it in the firelight.

Michonne smiled, leaning back in her chair. “I’m glad I came,” she said simply. “I’m glad you did too.”

She hugged him before retiring, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek. She smelled of smoke from the fire and the salt of the sea. Rick went to bed with the scent clinging to him, with thoughts of her tumbling in his mind’s eye. He awoke at dawn, feeling as though he had a hangover. Judith and Carl were awake already and dressed. He made them eat a bowl of cereal before following them out of the house, still bleary-eyed.

Michonne was waiting on her porch, waving at the trio as they approached. “Are you ready?” she asked cheerfully. Her bathing suit was a bright yellow today. She took both of his children by the hand and maneuvered them down to the beach.

She showed them how to prepare the boards, bending over to assist Carl with the bar of wax. Rick focused his efforts on Judith and not the sway of Michonne’s hips as she moved, or the rounded curves of an ass that her bathing suit was struggling to conceal.

She touched his back while she instructed Carl and Judith on how to stand up. They practiced, jumping up and down more than anything. Michonne laughed watching them. Her hand was warm between his shoulders, burning into his skin.

“Ready?” she asked, winking at Rick before bending to pick up the surfboard.

Rick hoped that he was.

Judith rode tandem with Michonne. Rick and Carl each had their own board. Rick ignored his headache, focusing instead on Judith’s delighted giggles, on Carl’s smile. His children were both laughing out loud by the time they made it to the smaller waves a few feet out. Carl stood up on shaking legs, managing to ride the surfboard a few yards before tumbling off. He reemerged with a giant grin.

“Did you see that, dad?” he asked.

“I did,” Rick smiled.

“You’re doing great,” Michonne complimented. “Stand back a little further on your board and you’ll stay up longer.”

It wasn’t long before Rick was forgotten completely. He didn’t mind. Carl was concentrating with single-minded focus, a look on his face that Rick hadn’t seen in years. He was laughing at Michonne’s jokes, smiling at her. He even eagerly traded places with Judith to sit on Michonne’s board after being promised a ride. Michonne paddled the pair of them further out, bidding Carl to hold on before she started carving up much larger waves. Carl’s shouts of joy echoed over the beach, attracting the attention of onlookers. Rick found himself smiling so hard that his face hurt.

“I like her,” Judith said dreamily, leaning back against her father’s bare chest. “Do you think she will come home with us after the vacation?”

Rick only laughed, trying to ignore the appeal of this suggestion with limited success.

“Carl,” Michonne asked the boy when they returned. “Do you think you could watch Judith while I give your dad a lesson?”

Carl nodded eagerly, hopping back onto his board to paddle Judith in. “Teach him how to surf like you,” he requested. “Then we can go out every day.”

“No promises,” Rick joked. His pulse was pounding again. Michonne was looking at him, her wet locs loose and down her back, a look in her eyes that excited Rick for more than one reason.

“I’ll do my best,” Michonne promised.

They watched as the kids paddled off, heading for the sand. It wasn’t until Rick saw that they were settled that he took his eyes off of them.

“Well,” Michonne’s smile was mischievous now. “Let’s see what you’ve got, old man.”

Rick fell more times than he cared to count, but in a half hour or so, he’d gotten his legs beneath him again. A familiar thrill filled him, an old sensation of a joy almost forgotten. He could hear Michonne’s cheer as he zipped further away, hand cutting through the waves. His legs burned, his chest heaved, but Rick smiled.

Michonne caught him on the next break, settling beside him. “Not bad,” she complimented. Her eyes darted down, to his bare chest, then quickly back up. “Not bad at all.”

Before he could say anything else, she was up and rushing off, expertly maneuvering away. Rick followed with a grin. They made it just beyond the break when Michonne stopped, sitting down on her board and tossing her hair behind her. Rick mirrored her, dropping down, a grin splitting his face nearly in two.

“I forgot how much I liked that,” he told her, exhaling. The sun beat down on his bare skin, but the breeze hastened to cool it. A shiver ran through him.

Michonne pulled her legs atop her board, bobbing with the waves. “You’re good,” she said, leaning forward.

“Just trying to keep up,” Rick deflected. His face was running hot from her attention.

Michonne snorted lightly, shaking her head. Beneath them, the ocean crested and ebbed, pushing their boards closer together.

“What?” Rick asked, wondering what was so funny to her.

She laughed all the louder. “You,” she said, still shaking her head. “You have no idea, do you?”

“About what?” he tilted his head towards her, legitimately confused.

She turned her face away from him. Rick was treated to the sight of her profile, silhouetted by the sun, the waves, and the beauty around them. He suddenly felt short of breath, reckless. He reached for her, smoothing his hand down her dark, slick skin.

“Race you back?” he challenged.

She rolled her eyes, but began paddling towards the break. “Try to keep up,” she teased over her shoulder.

Considering what she looked like from behind, Rick counted himself lucky that he was even able to stand up on his board.

Carl and Judith didn’t make it to s’mores that night, passing out exhaustedly. Rick tucked them in before returning to the porch. Michonne was waiting for him. Her bathing suit was gone, replaced with a t-shirt and shorts. Rick grinned at her as he wandered out of his front door.

“They’re ok?” she asked fondly.

“Knocked out,” Rick confirmed, leaving the door open a crack so that he could hear them. “You bought me a whole evening of quiet,” he joked.

Michonne laughed lightly, then lifted a bottle of wine. “I didn’t mean to crash your relaxing night,” she said apologetically. “I wanted to see if you’d want a glass with me,” she offered. Her voice had taken on a new tone, almost shy. Rick could have sworn she was having trouble holding his gaze. It brought a blush to his cheeks.

“Sure,” he agreed readily. “It should probably be me bringing you wine though.”

“Why?” she asked, bemused. She climbed the stairs to his porch. Her denim shorts clung to her muscled thighs, bunching as she moved towards him.

“For the free lessons,” Rick explained. He stretched his arm over his chest, tugging to give himself something to do that didn’t involve touching Michonne. His muscles would be sore tomorrow, but he relished the burn already. Perhaps he would sleep tonight without thinking about her first.

“Oh,” Michonne looked embarrassed. She handed him the bottle of wine. “It was my pleasure, really.” She tucked a few stray locs back from her face, tying them behind her head.

They stood on his porch, looking at one another in silence. Rick wanted to say something, but his mouth had run suddenly dry. All he could seem to think about the door behind him, his bedroom beyond, whether Michonne might like to see it. She fidgeted in front of him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. She shivered.

“Do you want a jacket?” Rick asked, the trance broken. He reached inside for a hook by the door and handed her a hoodie. It belonged to him, a well-worn, black hoodie from his days as a sheriff. The Kings County logo was on the breast.

“Thank you,” Michonne pulled it over her head. It was too big for her, but she made it look like high fashion nonetheless. Again, Rick fought the urge to stare.

Instead, he busied himself with getting glasses. He snagged a blanket off the back of the couch before heading back outside. Michonne was on the porch bench, staring out at the waves beyond.

“Here you go,” Rick offered her a glass, then sat beside her. “I brought this too, just in case.”

She took the blanket and cup gratefully. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Rick settled beside her, acutely aware of their proximity. Michonne spread the blanket over her legs, offering him a corner. Rick accepted it, tucking them both beneath the soft cotton.

“How long have you been surfing? Since you were a kid?” he asked. He had a million questions about Michonne, a million things he wanted to know.

She laughed lightly. “I learned a few months ago,” she admitted. “You’ve been surfing a lot longer than me.”

Rick blinked in surprise. “You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “I needed a hobby. I like the beach,” she shrugged, taking a sip. “It seemed like a good sport to learn.”

“And you’re teaching lessons already,” Rick chuckled. The wine was heavy in his mouth, the deep red cabernet tingling his taste buds.

“Well,” Michonne looked over at him. “I don’t teach just anybody.”

Rick flushed, wishing he had something witty to say in return.

“And,” Michonne moved closer to him. “You didn’t really need much teaching.”

Rick’s heart rattled fiercely against his ribcage. “My kids--” his tongue was like lead, his brain going fuzzy.

“Are great,” Michonne finished. “They’re lucky to have such a great father.”

Rick realized in a moment was about to happen, that this, whatever it was, was coming to a head. He silenced the voice in his mind full of misgivings, and jumped in feet first, leaning over.

Michonne met him halfway. The wine was forgotten as their lips touched. Rick coaxed the cup out of her hand, setting it on the windowsill behind them. She scooted closer to him, the blanket tangling around them. Rick caught her face between his palms, holding her still.

He’d thought of this somewhere in the back of his head for weeks, since he’d first seen her. Her lips were against his, plush and warm, the little breaths she took before parting her mouth for him driving him wild. He plunged inside eagerly, relishing in the moan that escaped her, in the way her hands gripped at his t-shirt. She mapped the muscles of his body with flattened palms, straining towards him. Rick moved his own hands to her waist, pulling her closer still, half in his lap. Their chests were pressed flush to one another, their breathing broken and gasping.

“Rick,” she whispered when he pulled away from her lips. He busied himself with kissing her neck. His hands cupped and squeezed her in turn. “Oh God…” she sighed, her head lolling forward.

He came back for her mouth then, kissing recklessly. Michonne’s hands found the hem of his shirt and slid upward. He craved her touch instantly. He moved his own palms across her stomach and thighs, gripping like she belonged to him, like they belonged to one another. Her little shorts seemed like far too much clothing. Michonne must have agreed because she worked the button open. Rick took the invitation, sliding his hand in past the denim.

“Oh fuck,” the curse word spilled from him as he felt her. Her arousal was painfully obvious, a searing heat that set him rock hard at once. He had done that to her. The thought was dizzying. With a sound somewhere between a choke and a growl, Rick touched her.

Michonne’s mouth fell open. She leaned forward, biting down on his shoulder to stifle her moans. Rick’s fingers traced her before sliding in, one, then a second. She writhed in his lap. He pressed harder still, needing to feel her fall apart, needing to be the one that unhinged her completely.

It didn’t take long. A rush of warmth precluded her climax. She clung to him, crying out quietly. Rick kissed her again, gently this time.

“Michonne,” he began, unsure what he wanted to say.

It did not matter. From inside the house, Judith had begun to cry. Rick could hear her through the gap in the door, the familiar whines that came with her nightmares. He realized suddenly what had just transpired. His children were inside, only meters away, their mother gone. And Rick… he was sitting outside on the porch of a beat-up beach house, seconds away from having sex with a relative stranger in plain sight.

He pulled his hand back, his eyes widening. Michonne noticed.

“You should go,” she said, standing up. Her shorts were still unbuttoned, crooked.

Rick nodded, standing as well. He tugged conspicuously at his jeans. Michonne watched him, something like sadness on her face. “I’ll be right back,” is what he wanted to promise her, but nothing came out. Instead, he nodded again, then disappeared inside.

Carl was already by Judith’s side, hugging his sister. Judith was half asleep.

“Nightmare?” Rick asked in a whisper.

Carl nodded. “She wouldn’t tell me what it was.” He blinked tiredly at his father. “Is Michonne still here?”

Rick felt that stab of guilt again. “We were on the porch,” he managed to say.

Carl considered this. “I think she likes you,” he said simply.

Rick froze. “You think?” he tried to ask conversationally.

Carl looked up at him. “Do you like her?” he asked.

Rick opened his mouth, then shut it again. “Carl…” he began.

“I think,” his son cut him off. “I think it would be cool if you did.” He took a deep breath. “She’s really nice. And she likes us even though--”

“She’s not mom,” Rick ventured. His throat felt tight again.

“Maybe she doesn’t have to be.” Carl nodded.

Carl’s words echoed as Rick tucked his children back into bed. His mind moved to Michonne. When he returned to the porch, she was gone. The wine was still sitting out, his hoodie folded neatly atop the blanket. He had half a mind to march next door, to knock and explain himself. Shame kept him rooted in place. He would tell her in the morning, apologize for moving so fast then screeching to a halt. Rick rehearsed what he would say in his head as he stared up at the dark ceiling.

But Michonne was absent again the next morning.


	2. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick pines for Michonne from afar, and makes a decision about his future.

Nearly a week dragged by without hide nor hair of Michonne. Carl and Judith looked eagerly for her to no avail. 

“I’m sure she’ll be around,” Rick consoled them one morning, hoping he looked more convincing than he felt. 

Carl said nothing, only led Judith down the beach. Rick sat in his chair, squinting out at the waves for a flash of her bright swimsuit, or her hair swinging like a banner behind her. He knocked on her door around lunch time, but there was no response. 

He didn’t even have her phone number, Rick realized. There were thousands of things he wanted to know but hadn’t mustered the courage to ask. If he had been more patient, perhaps he would have had time, time to learn, time to build something. But he’d jumped the gun, given into the temptation that had been stoking all summer long, like coals in a fire. She’d been nothing but kind to him and his children, had taken them under her wing, had helped relieve their grief. He’d repaid her with a sloppy sexual favor on his porch and then turned tail and ran. 

He lit the bonfire one night, five days after Michonne had disappeared, his mind still racing. Carl and Judith seemed to sense his mood. They plied him with marshmallows and soda, attempting to cheer him up. 

“Dad,” Carl shoved a s’more at him, sitting at his feet. “I’m sure she’ll come back.”

Rick could not help but smile. He accepted the treat. “Thanks, son,” he ruffled Carl’s hair. Carl nodded, plopping down in the sand to lean on his father’s legs. 

Judith was half-asleep in Rick’s lap when they heard the sound of footsteps. Both Carl and Rick looked up eagerly. They were not disappointed. 

“Hi,” it was Michonne, not in beach attire, but in a summer dress, walking towards them barefoot. Her sensible flats were in her hand, along with a small paper bag. Her skirt billowed around her calves, the red fabric bright and sunny, even in the darkness. Rick felt the air rush out of his lungs. 

“Michonne!” Carl yelled her name, waking his sister. Both children took off towards her, kicking up sand behind him, leaving Rick reeling in his chair. 

“Where were you?” Judith asked, tackling Michonne around the legs. Michonne hugged the girl back, smiling winningly. 

Michonne rooted in her paper bag. “I had to go for a few days.” She pulled out two Big Kat bars. “But I couldn’t come back without these.”

The kids eagerly accepted Michonne’s gift, racing to concoct a second round of dessert. Michonne’s eyes turned to Rick. He stood up at once, ramrod straight. 

“You look really pretty,” he told her, voice thick. Michonne stared back at him. Rick took a step towards her. “More than pretty,” he amended. “You look beautiful.”

She shifted, stirring the sand beneath her toes. “I needed to go to town for some work things,” she explained in a rush of breath. 

“Oh.” Rick looked at his kids, still occupied. He lowered his voice, trying to keep it even. “I wanted to come by that night—“

“You don’t have to explain,” Michonne said quickly. There was something like resignation on her face. Rick wondered what it had taken to get her to come back here, to approach him after what had happened. The depth of her affection for his children hit him in one dizzying moment. 

“I do.” Rick answered. “I want to.” He wanted lots of things, truth be told. 

Michonne swallowed, opening her mouth, then shutting it again. Her posture relaxed just the slightest, her shoulders slumping forward. She looked right on the brink of allowing him this favor, but their moment was cut short. 

“Michonne,” Judith interrupted them, running a crooked path from the fire to the pair of the adults, blissfully unaware of the tension. “Can you help me?”

Michonne turned towards the little girl, fixing on a smile. “Sure, Judes. Do you want to make one for your daddy?” She took Judith’s hand, answering her mile-a-minute inquiries about where she’d been all week. 

Rick was left standing there, dumbfounded and frustrated. Romance had never come easy to him, but there had been a time when it had been simpler. Rick found himself watching Michonne, something heavy settling inside of him. She was kneeling in the sand beside Judith, patiently helping the girl construct a towering s’more. The fire played off Michonne’s face, tracing golden shadows across the dark expanse of skin that had been haunting him for days now. He could feel the ghost of her touch, the echo of her moans in his ears. He should have picked her up, should have carried her inside, should have made her his, complications be damned. 

“You should take her on a date,” Carl had sidled up to his father’s side. His voice startled Rick out of his self-loathing. 

“What?” Rick’s ears were ringing. He looked down at his son.

“A date,” Carl clarified. “We can go to the movies. Judith and I will sit away from you.” This plan did not seem spur-the-moment. Carl had a gleam in his eye that Rick recognized at once from his own face. It seemed Michonne had not been on Rick’s mind alone. 

“Carl—” Rick began.

But his son was already in motion. “Michonne,” he ran over to her. “Have you seen Spider-Man yet?”

Rick wasn’t sure how he ended up in the theater, way past his children’s bedtime, ignoring the movie completely in lieu of focusing on Michonne’s leg against his. The theater was relatively empty, a blessing. Carl and Judith were crowded towards the front, snacking on popcorn as though they hadn’t just gorged themselves on sugar. Michonne was watching the movie, seemingly content to ignore Rick. It was torture. 

“That guy’s Spider-Man?” Rick leaned over to whisper in her ear.

Michonne looked sideways at him, perhaps irritated, certainly exasperated. “Rick, that’s the bad guy. Are you even paying attention?”

He shook his head. “Not to the movie,” he responded. It was not the smoothest line, but it had an effect.

Something in Michonne’s eyes darkened. “Rick…” she cautioned. 

“I’m sorry,” he launched into it, words he’d rehearsed all week tumbling out in a hushed rush. “I wanted to come back, Michonne. You’ve got no idea how much I wanted to.”

“You didn’t,” she said simply. She wet her lips, but kept her eyes on the screen. A fight scene had begun, a mass of sound and color. Rick could hear Judith and Carl gasping delightedly from a few rows up. 

“You left too,” he didn’t mean it as an accusation, but he needed to know why. 

She shook her head, “You didn’t see your face. I did.”

“What did my face look like?” He had a fair idea. 

“Like you’d made a mistake,” the sentence came out slowly, as though Michonne were trying to control her tone. “Were you thinking about--” she broke off. Spider-Man screamed onscreen. 

He hadn’t been thinking about Lori, not in the way that Michonne meant. “I wasn’t,” he assured her. Slowly, he moved his hand, reaching for her across the armrest. “There’s things about my marriage I haven’t told you,” he whispered again, edging closer to her. She did not pull back. 

“I kind of figured,” Michonne snorted lightly. Still, she looked nervous, and her hand was trembling in his own.

“I want to tell you,” he said, pushing her locs from her face with his spare hand. “I want to know everything about you.”

She shook her head again, hiding behind her hair. Her fingers flexed in his own. “Rick,” she sighed. “Is this a good idea?”

Truly, he did not know. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “My wife and I, we had our problems. And when she got sick, we never resolved them. It’s like we just pretended until the end.”

Michonne stayed silent, her eyes on the film, her breathing labored. 

“I’m a mess,” he admitted to her. “And you deserve better than a mess.”

Michonne looked suddenly downward, tucking her chin into her chest. “Rick…” she exhaled shakily. He realized with a start that she was crying. The explosions onscreen grew louder, but Rick’s ears were already ringing. 

“I like you,” it was an understatement, but it was the best that he could articulate. “Carl and Judith like you,” Rick imparted. 

Michonne nodded, looking up, not at the movie but at him. “It was stupid of me,” she whispered. 

He shook his head. “No,” his hand tightened around her. “I want to Michonne. Fuck, you don’t even know how much.” His chest hurt now, felt tight, like a balloon bursting somewhere inside him. “But I’m just not ready.”

Michonne nodded once, then twice more in quick succession. Her hand went lax in his own. She pulled away, setting it in her lap. Rick did not touch her again. 

The next few hours passed at a torturous pace. Michonne had dried her tears, had managed to smile and laugh with his children about the superhero antics they’d all just witnessed. She held Judith as they climbed back into his truck, riding in silence down the road to the beach houses. Rick stole glances at her as he drove, hyper aware of Carl in the backseat. The kids woke up enough to walk themselves from the driveway to the door. It didn’t take long for them to pick up the tension. 

“What’s wrong, daddy?” Judith asked him. She was holding Michonne’s hand. 

Rick mustered a grin. “Just tired, Judes.”

Carl looked far less convinced. His eyes darted between his father and Michonne. “Can we all surf tomorrow?” he asked. 

Michonne smiled a bit wistfully. “I wanted to tell you,” she began, kneeling to look his kids in the eye. “I have to go back to Charleston for work.”

The response was instantaneous and heartbreaking. Judith burst into immediate tears, throwing herself into Michonne’s arms. 

“You don’t want to be with us?” she wailed, clinging to the long locs of Michonne’s hair. 

Something passed over Michonne’s face, even as she made every effort to avoid Rick’s eyes. “It’s not that, Judes. It’s just work, ok?”

Judith continued crying. Carl looked dangerously close to tears as well. Rick moved forward, reaching for Carl’s shoulders. His son was shaking. 

“You guys are going to have so much fun with your dad,” Michonne imparted. “I’ll leave a surfboard for you, ok? You can give it back to me next summer.”

“We have to wait to see you until next summer?” This time it was Carl who asked a question through his sobs. 

Michonne pulled both kids to her, hugging them tightly. “Here,” she compromised. She reached into her purse, pulling out her phone. “You guys can call me whenever you want. You can email me, you can text me.” 

“We can visit?” Judith asked, just a bit hopeful. 

“I’ll leave my address,” Michonne told her, smoothing the little girl’s hair fondly. “You’re always welcome to visit me.” Rick met her eyes for just a second, but it was enough to make his throat tight. He wanted to hug her too, ask her to stay, to give him time. 

He said nothing. 

She stood up again after many tearful hugs from the kids. Rick teetered on the edge of embarrassing tears himself. 

“Go inside, ok?” he bent to kiss them each on the forehead. “Let me talk to Michonne a second.”

They left, walking slowly, waving at Michonne. The two adults were left staring at one another. 

“I’ll leave my information,” she began, her voice strangely businesslike. “They can call me anytime, if you’re comfortable with it--”

Rick cut her off, pulling her towards him into a tight hug. She stiffened, but her arms came up to embrace him as well. He wanted to tell her how badly he wanted her, his history of regrets, how this would soon go on the top of the list. 

“Thank you,” he whispered in her ear instead. “I’m going to miss you.”

She nodded, detaching from him. “Well,” she held her palm out. Rick dropped his cellphone into it. “You have my number,” she told him, handing the phone back after entering her information. 

“You’ll hear from me,” he promised. 

She didn’t look as though she believed him in the slightest. “Take care, Rick.”

“You too. I’ll see you next summer,” he told her. 

She only waved, walking away, up the road and to her car. She climbed in and started the engine. Then she was gone. 

It wasn’t only Rick who felt her absence as the summer waned on. The first week without Michonne, Carl and Judith didn’t do much more than mope. The sight of Big Kats was enough to send Judes into a fresh round of tears, and Carl’s smile retreated again. Rick handed over his phone before he could think better of it. They spent an hour in the sand, grinning and laughing into the receiver until the battery died. 

It became a ritual from there on out. Even when the summer ended and the weather began to cool, his children stole his phone in turns. There was a long stream of texts, often nonsensical, inside jokes and misspelled words, emojis and memes that Rick could barely decipher. Michonne’s responses seemed patient to him, the supportive, loving tones Rick could have guessed her capable of. 

Home was the same as he had left it, the house strangely empty, echoing with memories. Carl returned to school, Judith braved preschool, and Rick went back to work. It was almost as it was before, the long hours, the lonely nights. Rick worked himself to the bone, hoping it would be enough to tire him out, wondering why it was so hard to sleep in Kings County. 

He checked his messages, noting that they were fewer and farther between now that school was back in session. Carl seemed to have taken up sending Michonne pictures. Rick found himself smiling at the sight of Judith at breakfast, Carl’s backpack on the first day of school. He paused at the sight of his own face, remembering when Carl had snapped it a week past. He looked almost happy here, dressed in his uniform, sunglasses on his head, waiting to drop the kids off at school before heading out. 

Michonne had responded with a heart. 

His fingers were moving almost instantly. Rick sent his text, holding his breath. “Hey. Rick here. Thanks for being so sweet to them. Let me know if it’s too much.”

The three dots that popped up almost instantly had him holding his breath. 

“No problem. You have good kids.”

It was no nonsense. Rick could have probably said thank you, then left it alone. Instead, he typed again. 

“How are you?”

The response was slower in coming, but it did arrive. “I’m alright.”

There was a moment’s pause. Then, “How are you?”

Rick sat up straighter in bed, leaning against the headboard. “I’m ok. Started work again.”

The three little bouncing dots made an appearance. “Oh yeah? Back to sheriffing?”

“For now,” Rick smiled at his phone. “How’s your job?”

An eye roll emoji was fast in arriving. “My boss is driving me insane. Don’t suppose you could come and arrest him?”

Rick laughed outright. “Don’t think my jurisdiction extends to Charleston. I’ll work on it though.”

Conversation came easier from then on out. Rick wasn’t much for texting, but found that he liked it immensely when Michonne was the recipient. It was easier to talk this way, to pretend like the porch incident had never happened, like they were back in beach chairs on the sand. It wasn’t until his watch beeped at midnight that Rick realized that they’d been texting for hours. He could almost hear her voice while he read her messages. 

“I better go to bed, sheriff,” she typed at last. “I’ll need my strength to deal with work tomorrow.”

Rick swallowed, loathe to end the conversation, “Sleep well,” he toyed with the idea of sending an emoji but decided against it. “It was good talking to you.”

“Nice talking to you too,” she typed back, adding a yellow smiling face for posterity. 

Rick deleted the text stream after committing it all to memory, conscious that his children would likely read the messages. They were innocuous enough, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for them to know that he had feelings for a woman who wasn’t their mother. 

Texting became a kind of ritual after that. There were messages at breakfast, squeezed in before Rick handed the phone to his children. Occasionally, he checked in with her at lunch, asking about her job, her boss. He found himself looking at his phone more than he ever had in his life. 

He called her at Thanksgiving, talking briefly before handing the phone to Carl. The sound of her voice was enough to derail his train of thought for the whole of the holiday. Christmas Eve, he repeated the process, FaceTiming so that Judith and Carl could perform a stirring rendition of Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer for her. 

On New Year’s, she answered wearing a little black dress that left him choking on camera. Her smile was worth the embarrassment. 

“You alright, old man?” she teased, laughing into her phone. 

Rick cleared his throat. “You look nice,” another understatement. “You going to a party?” He let his mind run wild for a moment, imagining dancing with her in a darkened room, running his hands along that smooth dark skin of hers. He bet she smelled wonderful, a mix of coconut oil and whatever perfume she’d chosen. 

“I am,” she toyed with one of her curled locs. “I have a date...actually.” 

It was like being hit in the head with a brick. “Lucky guy,” Rick managed to intone through gritted teeth. 

Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ll see how it goes,” she mused. “Have a Happy New Year, Rick. Kiss the kids for me.” 

Rick spent the night watching cartoons on the couch with his kids, trying not to think about the kind of guy that would take Michonne out, wondering if they had anything in common. He resisted texting her for a few days before his resolve broke. 

“How was it?” he asked, cursing himself for being so transparent. 

Her response came after work. “It was alright. He’s nice. Bad kisser though.”

Rick felt a certain amount of satisfaction at this. It heightened with her next text. 

“You’re much better, for the record.”

His ego swelled as he stared at those 6 words blinking up at him on the screen. A thousand responses came to mind, each as inappropriate as the next. 

“Maybe I can take you out some time,” he settled on at last, deleting at least ten previous drafts. 

“Maybe,” she responded, adding a winking face. 

Michonne’s birthday was Valentine’s Day, a convenient coincidence. Rick dragged his kids to the store, watching as they picked out a card and a gift for her. They ended up with enough to fill a box, an amalgamation of her favorite things: Big Kats, a stuffed animal in the shape of a cat (Michonne had mentioned to Carl how much she liked them), and a bottle of wine (this was Rick). Rick slipped in a card of his own when his kids weren’t looking, sending the whole package off a week in advance. 

They called again on the day. Michonne laughed delightedly as Carl and Judith did their best cover of Stevie Wonder’s Birthday song--at Rick’s suggestion. The phone battery was almost dead when the kids finally handed it to their father. 

“I got your card,” Michonne told him, shy again. 

Rick blushed. He checked to make sure that Carl and Judith were out of earshot before responding. “I hope I didn’t overstep. I--”

“It’s ok,” she assured him. “I liked it.”

He swallowed. His clothing felt suddenly tight. “I just wanted you to know that I think about you,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. It sounded deep and raspy to his own ears. “All of the time.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Rick,” she said. 

“You’re welcome,” he was going red on screen, but it couldn’t be helped. “Happy Birthday. And Valentine’s Day.”

She blew him a kiss before hanging up. Rick went to bed thinking about it, wondering about the implications. Michonne was a hundred miles away, living her own life. She could easily have disconnected, eased away. Something kept her talking to them, and it seemed possible that it was more than just his children. 

He wanted her. He’d known that for months, but it was more plausible now. He should tell her, ask her to give this a try. Rick glanced around his bedroom, looking at decorations that Lori had picked out, at the remnants of a life that seemed further and further part of the past. 

His phone rang, startling him. He thought for a moment it was work, and considered pretending not to hear it. He leaned over his nightstand to where the phone was charging. Michonne’s name was glowing up at him, her image frozen in a picture from the summer, a selfie with Carl and Judith pressed to her sides. 

Rick hit answer before he could consider the fact that he was shirtless, in his bedroom, propped up against the headboard with his kids asleep just down the hall. 

“Everything alright?” he asked her by way of greeting. 

Michonne’s face appeared on the screen. She’d taken off her makeup, and her hair was loose and falling down her shoulders. She was wearing her pajamas, Rick realized, sitting up in bed the same as him. His pulse began to race. 

“I’m ok,” she answered, voice low, almost nervous. “Just...wanted to see your face.”

“I thought you’d be out for your birthday,” he told her. “Or on a date.”

She snorted, “Do you want me to be?” her nose wrinkled. Rick grinned at the sight. 

“No,” he answered point blank. “Not unless it’s with me.” He had half a mind to drive down there right now. 

She gasped a bit at that, transforming it into a laugh. “Is that so?” she asked. 

“Yeah,” his voice had turned into that rumble again without his permission. “I think you know that, Michonne.”

She shivered at the sound of her own name. “Are you saying you’d take me out, if you were here?” she asked, blinking innocently at him through her lashes. 

He sat up, letting the blanket slide further down around his waist. He didn’t miss how her eyes dropped, taking him in hungrily. “I’m saying if I were there, I’d be making sure you had a very good birthday,” he told her. 

“Rick,” she gasped outright then, worrying her lip between her teeth. “What are we doing?”

He shrugged. “You called me, birthday girl,” he reminded her. 

“You wrote me that card,” she threw back. 

He had. It had started as a nice gesture, a simple, red, cardstock card where he intended to thank her for what she’d done for Carl and Judith. He’d written all that, but his pen had continued moving, espousing thoughts he’d had for months in his slanted, no-nonsense handwriting. 

“I meant it,” he told her. Every word had been the truth. He wished he had kept kissing her that day, wished he had taken her to bed. He wished they’d never had to leave the beach. He could spend an eternity in the sand with her, staring at her in those little bikinis, watching her with his kids. He wanted her there at breakfast, the way she’d been all summer. He wanted her there at nights, beside him, beneath him. 

Her mouth fell open. “If I was there…” she started. “What would you do?”

Rick paused for a moment, listening. The only noise he could hear from the kids’ rooms were the sounds of them snoring away. Reaching for his headphones, he plugged them in, looking at Michonne sitting in her bed, staring at him in her pajamas. 

“If you were here?” he repeated. 

“Yeah,” she exhaled, drawing her legs up towards her chest. 

Rick told her. 

He woke up in his boxers atop the sheets, his mind spinning, echoing with whispered words, and panted instructions. His phone battery was nearly dead again. Hastily, he plugged it in, realizing he had to get up, had to go to work. 

A hundred miles away, Michonne was probably doing the same. He wanted to be there with her. He wondered for a moment what was stopping him. 

The thought would not leave him, not that day, or the week after. Carl and Judith picked up on this change in mood, though Rick was sure they didn’t quite know the reason. 

“Can we go visit Michonne?” Carl asked one weekend at breakfast. He’d just gotten off the phone with her, happily recounting the details of some comic book that she’d mailed him a week prior. Gifts like this came from Charleston more and more frequently now, just as Rick and Michonne’s late night conversations became more of a habit. 

“Maybe,” Rick tried to not sound as enthused by the prospect as he felt. He’d been toying with the idea for weeks. 

“Are you sure, Rick?” Michonne asked him later, her brow creasing. She was in a sports bra, in bed again. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, tilting his head curiously at her. 

“Because…” she sighed, pausing for a moment. “It’s one thing to do what we’re doing.” She paused again. “It’s another thing to do this in real life.”

“What do you mean?” Rick questioned. “You saying we’re not in the real world?”

She sucked at her teeth. “Rick, you’re in Kings County. You’re a sheriff. You’ve got two great kids...and I’m here, with a life of my own.”

“What if I want you in my life?” Rick asked. “Don’t you want to be in mine?”

Michonne sighed again. “How would we do that, Rick?” she asked. 

The answer wouldn’t seem to come. 

The question kept him up all night, and for part of the next. Work seemed herculean. His day to day schedule--drop off the kids, work himself down to the bone, pick the kids up-- seemed draining in a way that he’d forgotten. A familiar feeling, almost an inchiness, stirred within him. How long would he do this, go through life by the numbers? How long could he pretend to be happy doing the same old thing?

He and Michonne talked less now, something unspoken shifting between them. She was right. They couldn’t be together, not now, not with things the way they were. Work was exhausting her, Kings County was trapping him. Something would have to change. 

He found himself looking at real estate listings a month later. There was more than one fixer-upper in that sleepy beach town he’d fallen in love with. He crunched the numbers, realizing he could do this. It would mean selling his house, it would mean packing up, it would mean leaving the place he’d been born and raised in. 

The idea wasn’t wholly unappealing. Jobs were next. He checked the listings, called a precinct there, even asked about the qualifications necessary. The idea grew in his mind, transforming from a passing whim to a half-baked plan. 

He mentioned it to Carl one day at dinner. His son’s face lit up. 

“Live by the beach?” he asked brightly. 

“I was thinking it could be fun,” Rick said. “It would mean leaving here though. The house, your school--” Mom. It went unsaid, but they both felt it. 

Carl considered this. “I used to like it here,” Carl said, measuring his words carefully. “But since mom died...” He swallowed thickly. “I think I would like it at the beach,” he settled. 

Judith’s enthusiasm at the idea could not be contained. She asked mile-a-minute questions for a week after, wanting to see the possible house, wanting to pack everything up. She told her preschool she was leaving before anything had been decided. One of her classmates must have told their parents, because next thing Rick knew, his sergeant was calling him in, asking him if he was planning on skipping town. 

“Yeah,” Rick answered before he thought better of it. “I think I am.”

It went quickly after that, a blur of real estate agents, of money passing hands, of boxes and moving trucks. Going through Lori’s belongings was harder than he could have imagined. Her clothes he folded neatly and gave away. Her jewellery went into a box for Judith, her notebooks and photo albums were stacked and prepared to make the trip. Rick left the bedspreads, the curtains, the furniture they’d picked together a decade and a half ago with the house that no longer belonged to them. 

By May, they were back in the truck, heading up the road, this time for good. 

“Does Michonne know we’re coming?” Carl asked. 

Rick looked at his phone. He’d left her a message this morning, asking to talk to her. 

“We’ll call her tonight,” Rick told Carl. 

Carl settled into the seat, nodding importantly. In the back, Judith slept between a stack of bedding and stuffed animals that she insisted make the trip beside her instead of in boxes. 

“Think she’ll be happy?” Carl asked. 

Rick steered up the road, getting on the freeway headed for South Carolina. “I hope so, son,” he answered.


	3. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick surprises Michonne and starts his new life in Charleston

Rick checked his reflection in the mirror of his new bedroom, straightening the sleeves of his button down shirt. At Judith’s suggestion, he had forgone wearing a tie, but he still felt that he looked nice enough. His children sat on the bed, surrounded by boxes and stacks of clothing, appraising him with serious eyes. 

“Your hair is getting long,” Carl observed, squinting at his father. 

Rick looked back at him, tugging on the chestnut locks that were now curling past Carl’s ears. “Look who’s talking,” he teased back. Carl smiled. 

“How come you shaved your beard, daddy?” Judith asked, kicking her feet against the mattress. 

“I want to look nice,” he explained. He pushed his sleeves up, folding them into place where he would have ordinarily just bunched the fabric. The dark blue denim looked alright, he decided. His kids had picked it out of his closet from a pile of clothing that hadn’t seen the light of day in a very long time. 

“Oh,” Judith contemplated this. “I think you look nice with fluff on your face.”

Rick bent to kiss her head. “Thanks, sweetheart.” He was sure his beard would be back eventually, but for tonight, he wanted to make an effort. 

“Did you get flowers? The red ones?” Judith asked.

“I’ll stop on my way,” he promised her. 

Rick glanced down at his phone, checking the time. An unopened text message blinked up at him. He thumbed the phone unlocked, bending to read it. 

“Headed home now,” Michonne had written to him. “Can’t wait to just unwind a little.”

“Hard day?” he texted back. 

Her response came quickly. “You have no idea. I need a break. And a hug.”

He smiled to himself. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Planning on sending me one all the way from Georgia?” she asked with a smiley face. 

“Something like that,” he sent back cryptically. 

“She’s going to be so surprised,” Carl said brightly, watching Rick gather his wallet and car keys. 

The sitter was at the door by the time Rick reached the living room. He bent to kiss each of his kids on the head. 

“Be good,” he instructed.

“We will,” Carl said. “Say hello to Michonne for us, ok?”

“I will,” Rick promised. 

He was in his truck and heading up the road within minutes, a grin splitting his face. He navigated the unfamiliar streets, his mind tumbling. When he stopped to grab roses, the first hints of doubt began to creep into him. 

“Promises, promises…” Michonne had written back. Her message glowed on the phone’s screen. 

Rick did not know how to respond. One part of him remained excited that he’d soon be seeing her, but anxiety was growing, fraying his nerves. Last time they faced one another, it had been strained, awkward. He’d made her cry. Rick swallowed nervously, steadying his breathing as he turned onto the street Michonne lived on. Her apartment complex came into view, a cream colored, neat stack of buildings. Rick parked his truck, seized the roses, and picked up his phone. 

“Are you home?” he asked, texting quickly. 

“Yes,” her response came back again. “Why?”

“I wanted to call you, is all,” he messaged, palms sweating. 

His phone began to ring within moments. Rick tucked it into his pocket, ignoring the vibration. He counted the doors as he walked, looking for her number. When he got to the second floor, he found it. Steeling his nerve, he raised his fist and knocked on door 243. 

“One second!” Michonne’s voice called out. His phone silenced a moment after. He could hear her walking towards the door, her feet moving ever closer. The locks tumbled, and she opened it, her phone still in her hand. 

“Hey,” Rick said, wetting his lips, his stomach doing somersaults. 

Michonne’s mouth fell open at once and she nearly dropped her phone. Hastily, she set it aside on a small corner table before turning to him once again. 

“Rick?” she asked, shocked. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” he responded. 

She stepped outside, mere inches from him, her bare feet touching the tips of his boots. “Where are the kids?”

“They’re at home; with the babysitter,” he shuffled nervously. 

“You left them in Georgia?” he could see her mind spinning, trying to work this out. 

Rick smiled a bit. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I thought I’d surprise you.”

She looked at him with wide-eyes while he caught his breath. 

“We bought a beach house near the one from last summer.” He rocked on his feet. “So, home isn’t so far from here anymore.”

Michonne was still for a moment. Rick felt fear plunge ice-cold through him. 

“Rick,” she said slowly. “Are you telling me you moved here?”

“I am,” he nodded. 

Her hands reached for him, lightning quick as she yanked at his dark denim shirt, pulling him over the threshold. Michonne shut the door with a resounding slam before throwing herself into his arms. Rick dropped the bouquet, but barely noticed, catching her around the waist as her lips came crashing towards his. 

He wasted no time, slanting his mouth down over hers. She moaned against him, curling her fingers into first the collar of his shirt, then his carefully brushed hair. Rick picked her up, reversing their positions so it was Michonne whose back was to the front door. She let out a muffled squeal, but offered no protest as he leaned his weight against her. 

She tasted amazing, like red wine. Rick deepened their kiss, sucking at her. Her leg curled around his waist, the fabric of her yellow dress bunching and wrinkling. He ran his hands up, refamiliarizing himself with the smoothness of her skin. 

“Does this mean you’re happy to see me?” he asked, pausing to kiss her neck. The tips of his fingers skimmed the lacy cotton of her panties. She squirmed against him. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispered in awe. She stroked his face, running a thumb down from his mouth to his chin. “Where’d the beard go?” she teased. 

“Wanted to impress you,” He admitted. He kissed her again. 

“You did,” she told him, punctuating her statement with her lips. “But I kind of liked the beard.”

“Yeah?” the scruff was born more of lack of time than any true purpose. He hadn’t expected her to like it. 

“I wondered what it would feel like,” she mused, “Especially on my thighs.”

His knees nearly went out from under him at the statement. He’d heard her talk like this before, on late night calls, her voice echoing through his headphones. He intended to make good on a long list of breathless promises. 

“Shit,” he cursed. His plan for tonight was rapidly fleeing his mind. 

“What?” she asked innocently. Rick allowed himself a moment to enjoy the play of her lips and tongue on his before he pulled back. 

He kissed her temple, nuzzling his face closer to hers. “I want to take you out,” he told her. 

“Out?” she asked, looking as dizzy as he felt. Her leg arched around his waist, and Rick’s resolve splintered again. 

“On a date,” he clarified, taking a deep breath. “I want to take you on a date.”

“Right now?” her fingers toyed with his hair, then the buttons of his shirt. 

“Well, for a year now,” he said. “But yeah. Right now. If you want to,” he added. 

She laughed in disbelief. “I thought--” she broke off. “I didn’t expect you to come.”

He caught her lips with his again, kissing her until she went slack in his arms. An idea began to form in his mind, a sudden urge to right an old wrong. He picked her up, enjoying her surprised little squeak. 

Rick walked her backwards, the fabric of her dress swaying around them both. He eased her down onto the cushions. “Lay back,” he requested, levering himself over her body to whisper in her ear. 

She nodded, slowly relaxing. Rick ran his hands up her bare legs, beneath her skirt. She let out a shuddering moan. He kissed her, trailing his mouth over her neck, over her breasts, down to her stomach. 

“Rick,” she called out, breathless. “I want to see you.” 

He sat up, working the buttons of his shirt open. Michonne watched him through heavily lidded eyes as he set it aside. She’d seen his bare chest dozens of times, last summer and through her phone. Her appreciative looks then didn’t compare to the expression that crossed her face now. She reached for him, her skin against his sending a delightful shiver through him. 

Rick helped her out of her dress, then himself out of his jeans, enjoying the luxury of laying with her so close. Her body was warm against him, familiar already. He touched her, holding her around the waist, filling his palms with her rounded curves. The heat of her grew nearly unbearable, especially pressed against his thigh. She was grinding against his leg without seeming to give it thought, begging him for something they both wanted. Rick ached for her so badly that it seemed likely to kill him. In the past, he’d been forced to relieve himself, listening to Michonne’s voice, pretending it was her hands that were on him. Now, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties. 

She shivered as he pulled them off, gasping for air brokenly. Rick kissed every inch he exposed while he dragged the scrap of fabric down her legs. He laid his head against her stomach, holding her until her trembling stilled. 

“There’s so much I want to do with you,” he pressed his lips to her again, delighting in her gasp. “But I’m going to start with this.”

He tossed her legs over his shoulders as he went to his knees for her, diving in without trepidation. Michonne screamed outright, burying her hands in his hair tight enough to sting. He smiled in satisfaction, taking his time, touching her the way he’d seen her touch herself over the last few months. 

“Oh,” she gasped, rolling her hips into his face. Rick held her down, sucking and licking until she was moaning loudly. “God...Rick,” she panted, her legs beginning to shake. 

“I've got you,” he promised her, kissing the inside of her thighs before beginning again. 

The sounds Michonne made spurred him on until his senses were filled with nothing but her. It was everything: her smell, her taste, the feel of her legs, and the panting, whining moans that were falling from her lips. She came apart in waves, writhing and squirming against his mouth and fingers. Rick held her until she came back down.

“You ok?” he questioned, wiping his mouth. He crawled up towards her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him. 

“Yeah,” she exhaled after a moment. She reached for him, and buried her head into his bare chest. “God, Rick,” her lips tickled his skin as she spoke. “I’m so glad to see you.”

He held her tighter, reaching up to stroke her long locs. “Me too, Chonne.”

“I was having the worst day,” she said. “The worst day. I wanted to just run out the door, and call you, but I thought--” she swallowed. Rick rubbed her back, tucking his head against hers. “Then you turned up,” she said, smiling against him. 

“Work?” he asked sympathetically. He understood the sentiment. 

She nodded. “And I was...thinking about us.”

“Good things?” he ventured. 

“Confusing things,” she admitted. She tilted her face back to look at him. “I wanted to visit you. I figured we could talk.”

He smiled at her. “We can talk over dinner tonight,” he offered. “I want to hear about work, and your life, and what I’ve missed for a year.”

She flushed a bit, looking pleased. “That’s a lot to cover in one dinner,” she observed. 

“I’m hoping it’s more than one,” he said immediately. He kissed her again. She reciprocated eagerly, sighing against him. 

“Ok,” she agreed. Michonne stretched experimentally. “I’m not sure I can get off the couch though. My legs are numb.”

“That good, huh?” he couldn’t resist the urge to tease, not when his ego was running so hot. 

She rolled her eyes. “I mean...you were ok.” She began to laugh when he scowled at her. “I want to take care of you though,” she rolled her hips against him. 

Rick’s mind went white for a moment, but he quickly regained sanity. “Let me take you out,” he repeated. 

“Are you sure?” she baited. 

Rick sat up, taking Michonne with him. “I’ve been thinking about it since last summer. I’m sure, Michonne.” 

She smiled. “Alright,” she moved closer to him. “Where did you have in mind?”

The restaurant Carl had picked on Yelp turned out to be pretty good. Michonne sat in the booth beside him, chatting lightly. Her hand never strayed far from him, bouncing between his palm and knee. Rick didn’t mind. She could touch him wherever she wanted as long as she kept smiling at him like he’d hung the moon for her.

Dinner turned to dancing at a bar next door. The band onstage played covers of 80s power ballads, to the delight of the patrons. Rick seized the opportunity to hold Michonne close, rocking her to the rhythm. 

“Have dinner with me this weekend,” he requested. “Come see the new house.” He flattened his palm against her lower back. 

Michonne wrapped her arms around him, pressing her head into his shoulder. She began to laugh, lightly at first, then gaining speed. “The kids,” she wet her lips nervously. “What do you think they’ll say?”

Rick kissed her forehead then cheek in turn. “You know they love you,” he reminded her. “Carl picked that restaurant.”

Michonne laughed in surprise. “He did?”

Rick nodded. “Judith picked this shirt,” he added. Michonne’s giggles escalated. “I think maybe they knew before I did,” he mused. 

Michonne tilted her head curiously at him. “What did they know?”

Rick kissed her soundly in answer, public be damned. 

Night had fallen by the time Rick reluctantly took Michonne back to her house. It was a nice space. Rick told her so as they crossed the threshold again. Michonne had decorated with plants, and colorful splashes of art. The flowers he’d brought her were nestled in a vase on her kitchen counter. Rick noticed her surfboards, hung on hooks above the couch. Nearby, a bulletin board sported hand-drawn pictures Rick recognized at once. He paused in front of them. 

“They do a good job when they draw you,” he observed, voice tight. Carl had rendered Michonne in colored pencil as a superhero, standing atop a building like Wonder Woman. Judith had drawn them all together, holding hands. 

Michonne smiled. “I had to put them up,” she explained sheepishly. 

Rick stepped closer, noticing his birthday card pinned just behind them. He smiled as well. “They’ll be happy when I tell them,” Rick said. 

“What do they think about the two of us?” Michonne asked, standing beside him. “What have you told them?”

“I know what I’d like to tell them,” Rick turned to her. He reached for her hand again. Michonne took it. “I figured I’d better talk to you though first.” 

“I can’t believe you moved here,” she shook her head. “You should have told me.” She didn’t sound upset, only shocked. 

“Michonne,” Rick pulled her closer. “It was something I needed to do. Kings County…” was full of ghosts. Rick wanted something new, something for his family. “We needed a change,” he settled on. “Turns out you living here is a huge perk.” He grinned crookedly at her. 

She laughed, running her hands up his arms. “So now, what?”

Rick shrugged. “I’d like to go home and tell the kids we’re dating. But we can wait. We can do what you want to do. I’m sure the babysitter won’t mind watching them more nights. I’ll drive up, take you out…” he slowed himself down. “We can get to know one another.”

“No more late night phone calls?” she asked slyly. 

“I’d be happy to make house calls,” he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Just give me a few hours heads up.” 

Michonne stepped closer to him, leaning towards him. “Rick,” she began, “are you sure?” 

He held her close, slanting his mouth over hers until she parted her lips on a gasp. This time, Rick went slow, touching Michonne carefully until she was trembling. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered in her ear. Michonne clung to him. 

“Me too,” she admitted. “Can you stay the night?” she whispered. 

Rick shook his head. “The babysitter is just for the evening.” He felt regret for a moment. “I can pick you up though, this weekend.”

She kissed his chin, then his nose. “Sounds good,” she agreed. 

It took an effort Rick wasn’t sure he was capable of to untangle himself from around Michonne. It was worth it though when he kissed her goodbye, knowing he’d see her again soon. 

As predicted, Carl and Judith were over the moon with the news. 

“She’s spending the night?” Judith screeched the next morning, nearly upending her cereal bowl. Rick stilled it, chuckling. 

“She can have my room,” Carl insisted at once. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

“We have a spare room, remember?” Rick asked. It was filled with boxes now, things left to unpack. Rick privately thought it would be a cold day in hell before he let Michonne sleep in there alone, but the kids did not need to know that. Not yet. 

The next few days were a blur of unpacking, decorating, cleaning up. Rick was exhausted, but exhilarated. It had been years since he had taken a risk, since he felt like he was at a beginning and not an ending. Perhaps Carl and Judith picked up on his energy, or perhaps they felt the same. Whatever the reason, the new house was filled with their laughter, with delighted shouts. Rick played music again, loudly, aware that their neighbors were far enough away, that the sound of the ocean in the distance would swallow the sound. 

The house was nicer than the beach house had been, but still needed work. Rick took them to the hardware store and dutifully discussed colors, settling on bright yellow (Judith’s suggestion) with dark blue trim and shutters (Carl’s compromise). Painting was a pain in the ass, as was sanding, sweeping, wiping things down. The yard was a rough patch of sand and beach grass. They built a path out of flat river stones carted all the way from Kings County. Lori’s picture was hung in the living room, on a wall of family photos. Rick was surprised to find that the sight of her face didn’t hurt him as he expected it to. There was something comforting to it now, a reminder of the woman who’d given him the two best parts of his life. 

Most nights they fell asleep on the couch together, the tv humming in the background, takeout containers sprawled against the glass coffee table. Rick supposed he ought to enforce that they sleep in their rooms, but he didn’t bother. They wouldn’t always be like this, wouldn’t always want to be around him. He’d learned long ago to enjoy life’s little pleasures when they came his way.

“She’s here!” Carl’s scream startled Rick the next morning. He was knee deep in unpacking the kitchen, stacking plates and dishes into the wooden cabinets. The living room at least no longer looked like a warzone, and most of the kid’s stuff was put away. Rick’s room was still a labyrinth of boxes. 

The front door bounced against the frame as his kids tore out into the yard, watching eagerly as Michonne’s car pulled up into the driveway. Rick followed them, sweating already in the humidity of the day, his hair disheveled, his brown shirt sticking to him. Michonne, by contrast, looked fresh as a daisy in shorts and a tank top, her hair swept up into a high ponytail. 

“What are you doing here?” Rick asked her, amused. “We were going to come get you this evening.”

She grinned at him as she got out of the car, pausing to hug Carl, then sweep Judith into her arms. “I took the day off,” she explained. “I thought I’d come help you.”

Unpacking did go faster with Michonne at his side, even with Judith and Carl underfoot. They showed her their bedrooms, the new backyard, the garage where Rick said they could store the surfboards they would buy. She smiled and exclaimed when necessary, holding both of their hands. 

“Do you want to go surfing?” she asked them after lunch. She winked at Rick from across his dining room table. 

Rick grinned back at her, following his cheering children out of the room. 

The ocean felt amazing against his sore muscles, the sun high overhead. Carl was on his own board, tentatively navigating the waves by himself. Judith clung to Rick’s hands as they rode the swells, giggling with delight. Rick enjoyed surfing, but it was the sight of Michonne, bright bikini and all, that set his heart racing. 

He snuck a kiss while Carl and Judith paddled back to the beach. She tasted of saltwater. Rick didn’t mind. 

“Thanks for coming,” he mumbled against her lips. 

She pulled back from him with a giggle, looking nervously ahead. “Thanks for having me,” she splashed at him. In seconds, she was back up, surfing away. Rick followed her with a grin.

There was no bonfire that night, but it didn’t seem to bother anyone inside the house. Evening had given way to a summer rain, leaving them sequestered inside. It took much coaxing to get Carl and Judith to go to bed, even though both of them could barely hold their eyes open. They only went when Michonne stepped in with a bedtime story. The sound of her voice did the trick, lulling the pair to sleep within minutes. Rick carried Judith from Carl’s room to her own, shutting their doors behind them. He turned to Michonne. She was standing behind him, dressed in sweatpants and his borrowed sweatshirt, her hair loose around her face. 

She smiled at him, “What do you want to do for the rest of the night?” she asked innocently. 

The last modicum of self-control that Rick possessed snapped. He caged her between his arms, backing her against the wall. Her breathing quickened at once, her eyes darkening as he rocked his body into hers. 

“I’m taking you to bed,” he told her, catching her around the hips. 

She came without complaint. Rick locked the door behind him. He lowered Michonne to the mattress. She dragged him down on top of her. 

“No interruptions this time?” she asked, nipping at his lips and neck in turn. 

A rumbling groan escaped him. He pulled her hands above her head, pinning them. Outside the window, the rain began to slant down, splashing against the house. The sound was soothing, similar to the effect of the ocean’s waves. Rick rolled his hips to the rhythm, listening as Michonne began to pant from the feel of him pressing against her. 

“I need you to touch me,” she begged, running her legs up his own. 

Rick quickly complied, working her sweatpants off. She tugged his t-shirt over his head, pausing to pull at his damp curls. Their clothing hit the floor in a frantic pile, the humidity of the room making their skin slick as they groped at one another. She pressed kisses to his bare chest, licking and sucking until he groaned again. His mouth found her, first one nipple, then the other. He lavished attention on them until she was writhing against him, the evidence of her need dripping over his hand. He rubbed himself against her, listening to her gasp. 

“Shit, ‘Chonne,” the nickname slipped out as her hand fisted him snuggly. 

She pushed him back with a palm to her chest, crawling over his body. Rick had a fleeting impression of what she wanted to do, then her mouth was on him, and his mind went blank. He was thankful for the sounds of the rain as he started making plenty of noise himself. Her lips around him, her eyes on his face— it was all almost too much. Rick gritted his teeth to keep himself quiet. 

Michonne moaned, clearly enjoying herself. Rick’s body went tight as a bow. It took every bit of control he had to maintain his composure. The wet heat of her mouth and tongue was sublime torture. 

“Fuck,” the word slipped out, but it only encouraged her to move with more vigor. He pumped his hips towards her, unable to help himself. “Holy shit,” he cursed again. “Look at you, Chonne...fuck.” He swallowed thickly. “God, darling, you’re going to kill me.”

She smiled impishly, easing off of him. “Want me to keep going?” she whispered. She gripped him again, looking eager. 

One part of Rick did, but the other part had waited far too long for this moment. Shaking his head, he seized her, pulling her flush atop him again. She moaned when his length pressed against her, teasing. He reached around her, cupping her ass. She fell forward into him, her nails scraping at her shoulders. 

“You ready?” he whispered in her ear. She shivered. 

“Yes,” she gasped. 

“Tell me what you want,” he requested, long nights on the phone resurfacing. 

She clung to him hard enough to hurt, sucking at his neck. “I need you,” she begged directly into his ear. “I need you inside of me now.”

Rick rolled her over, careful to catch his weight before he collided into her. A rumble of thunder disguised her cry of pleasure as he moved, pushing in until their hips met. He braced himself, lifting her leg, pulling out only to go deeper still. 

“Shit,” it was her cursing now, filthy words tumbling from her lips. “Oh fuck, Rick, baby--” 

He silenced her with his mouth, afraid that someone might hear, that she might push him over the edge too quickly. His tongue mirrored the motion of his hips as he thrust in and out. She matched him, setting a frantic pace, chasing a release they’d both needed for a year. 

“God, Michonne,” he gasped against her neck. She felt like heaven, like they were meant to be together like this. In the back of his mind, he’d been afraid that it would be awkward, that it wouldn’t live up to his expectations. The sinfully sweet crush of her around him made him feel foolish for even considering that possibility. 

She pulled at his waist, dragging him deeper. Rick reached for her legs, hooking them higher. She muffled a pleasured scream against his shoulder, threatening to send Rick careening out of control. 

“Come on, ‘Chonne,” he bent over to whisper in her ear, his hand stroking her for good measure. “Come for me.”

He’d said these words dozens of times before, but the effect was instantaneous now. He stifled a loud groan against her skin as she pulled them both over the edge. She held him tightly, the storm picking up force outside. The house shook slightly, but Rick barely felt it. As far as he was concerned, the world began and ended with the woman beneath him. 

They laid in silence for a moment, listening to the storm rage outside. 

“Should I go to the guest room?” Michonne asked. “What if the kids get scared?”

Rick tightened his arms around Michonne. “You’re not going anywhere,” he teased, kissing at her neck. His hands began to wander across her slick skin. 

“The kids—“ she tried again, but her protest was half-hearted. She arched backwards into him, looping an arm over her head to hold him to her. 

“--Are fine,” Rick insisted. Judith’s nightmares were few and far between now. “It’s just you and me in here tonight.” Michonne being in his arms was enough to get him going again. He stroked her, listening to her quiet moan. “I told you what I would do if I ever got you in bed.”

Michonne shivered. “That’s a lot to cover in one night,” her familiar quip became a gasp when he pressed his length against her. 

“Better get started then,” Rick smiled, rolling her onto her stomach. 

Michonne did slip from bed hours later, just before dawn. Rick reluctantly let her go, the logical part of him seeing the sense in talking to the kids first. He laid in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about the woman just on the other side of the wall. On a whim, he reached for his phone.

“Just like old times, huh?”

He sent the message with a grin. In seconds, the phone buzzed. 

“Almost,” Michonne answered. “I’m a lot more sore now than I am at home.”

Rick guffawed into his pillow. “I’d get used to it if I were you, Chonne.”

The wink emoji came back in a blink. “I’m planning on it, old man.”

Rick’s bedroom door burst open as he grinned at his phone. Carl and Judith unceremoniously piled in. 

“Is Michonne still here?” Judith asked, bouncing onto the mattress. 

“Good morning to you too, Judes,” Rick teased his daughter. “Did you check the guest room?”

Judith ran off without another word, a smile splitting her face. Carl was left standing beside the bed, wearing a puzzled expression. 

“What’s wrong, son?” Rick asked, sitting up. 

Carl shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I just kinda figured Michonne would be in here.”

Rick started. Carl laughed. Rick hit him with a pillow. “Smart aleck,” he scoffed. 

Carl laughed harder, rushing from the room.

Rick followed, pausing to listen as his kids reached Michonne. Their mirth echoed even through the walls. 

Smiling to himself, Rick joined them.


	4. Epilogue

Michonne supposed that someone somewhere might have been having a more depressing birthday, but she found it hard to focus on anything except the scope of her own despondence. It did not help that several milestones had been reached today, the conclusion of the first year of her 30s, the termination of a relationship that she’d never planned on ending, the first holiday in her new apartment.

And it was Valentine’s Day.

She picked at a box of chalky, flavored chocolates, eating around the caramels and raspberry ones. The sugar sat heavily in her mouth, distracting her somewhat. Her friends had brought them over, along with a dozen white roses and a bottle of wine, birthday gifts for their newly single, 31-year-old lawyer friend. Michonne appreciated the gesture. She felt marginally better.

She popped the cork of her wine, stubbornly refusing to think about Mike as she went about heating up dinner for one. She could have gone out, she supposed, but she was in no mood to endure the lovey-dovey couples sure to be swarming the streets tonight. No; tonight was to be a night of quiet reflection, Netflix binging, and drinking alone.

She settled on the couch, glass in hand, plate on the coffee table, some documentary about serial killers playing on her modest flat screen. She wished she could say she was paying attention, but her traitorous mind had wandered back to Mike. It was amazing that a person could be habit-forming, even when they weren’t particularly good for you. Still, at the beginning of their dalliance, Mike had been spontaneous, fun, adventurous. She’d come out of her shell, tried new things, wandered the streets with a huge smile on her face. Then years together erased many of the benefits, leaving resentment and drudging routine in their place. She was better off without him, they were better off apart, and Michonne knew it.

It didn’t make this day any easier to endure.

Her phone found its way into her hand. Michonne thumbed through social media, liking photos of happy couples, answering birthday well-wishes, and sipping her wine. An advertisement caught her eye, one she would normally have scrolled right past.

“Tired of the cold?” it said. “Book a beach vacation!”

The beach. It held more appeal than she could possibly articulate. The beach was warm, calming, familiar. She hadn’t been in years. She clicked it without thinking, looking through expensive packages to far-flung tropical locations.

She could use a vacation. Hell, she could use a whole summer break. She was willing to bet she had enough paid time off accumulated to support it. When was the last time she’d taken a trip, a real one, not a weekend in Savannah?

She navigated the web, following the thread of an impulse that she’d had too much wine to truly curb. Within an hour, she had a beach house booked for nearly two months, her credit card had a hefty charge, and a surfboard was in-transit to her house from some store way out in the boonies.

She’d always wanted to learn to surf. There was plenty that she’d wanted to do. It seemed high time that she started doing them.

Satisfied, she fell asleep on the couch, her glass empty, the TV flickering in the background.

-l-l-l-l-l-

The box on her front step surprised Michonne when she arrived home. She toed it curiously, noting the handwritten return address.

Rick Grimes.

Her heart skipped a beat, the annoying habit it had taken up since she first encountered the southern single father on the beach last summer. She had hoped the effect he had on her would wear off, but thus far had no such luck. The sight of his name alone was enough to feel the echo of his lips on hers, the rough surface of his hands as he skillfully took her apart.

It was stupid, really. She was too old for this kind of infatuation, too old for such delusions. Michonne had done her best to move on, truly. She’d been on more than a handful of dates, had even started seeing a man. He was nice, attentive, and handsome enough. It didn’t explain why she spent an inordinate amount of her time communicating with two adorable kids from King’s County and their problematically attractive dad.

It was easier when she’d been angry at Rick, hurt and embarrassed. She didn’t expect his sincere apology, the pain in his face as he stumbled through his explanation. It had been stupid to jump the gun, foolish to imagine that he was the kind of man who could put aside decades of history at the drop of a dime just because the two of them had a mutual attraction.

Michonne fully counted on Rick going back to his life, on things going back to normal. She didn’t expect his calls and texts, the simple, sweet comfort of him checking in on her. She didn’t count on what a good confidant he was, how funny he could be, the sorrowful way he watched her sometimes through the screen of her phone, as though there was a world of regret behind his eyes. She did not think that Rick Grimes might solidly take his place as one of her closest friends.

It did not much matter what she’d expected; the facts were that they talked every day, in some way or another. She could not be angry at him anymore. What was once largely physical attraction had deepened, until a day without hearing his voice seemed like a day largely wasted.

She tore the tape off the cardboard box as she brought it inside, sitting it on her coffee table. The drawings on the top made her smile, her own image rendered lovingly in colored pencil and crayon. Carl and Judith had wormed their way into her heart at once.

Michonne continued removing items, her grin widening at the candy bars, a cat stuffed animal, and a bottle of good Cabernet. She wondered if Rick remembered that’s what they drank the night they’d kissed, that the taste of that wine brought back a sensory memory that left her aching.

Pushing the bottle and those thoughts aside, she seized the last item, a nondescript red-envelope. It was a white Valentine’s Day card with a red heart, cartoonishly simplistic. She opened it, expecting to see the kids’ signatures, and perhaps Rick’s.

The words inside stole the breath right from her lungs.

** _Dear Michonne,_ **

He’d written her name in tidy, slanted scrawl, pressing heavily with the black pen.

_ **Happy Birthday! And Happy Valentine’s Day! Convenient that two good holidays happen simultaneously. I’m sure you’ve seen the kids’ gifts for you already, but I wanted to give you something that’s just from me.** _

_ **I never did have good timing, but considering the occasion, I thought it’s best you know the truth. I think about you all the time, Michonne, and not just because you’re a better friend than I deserve, or so loving to my children. I think about that night, about what I wish I had done. I should have kept right on kissing you, should have wrapped those long legs of yours around my waist, picked you up, and taken you to bed. I should have told you everything, everything you mean to me.** _

_ **If I could be anywhere, it’d be back on the beach with you, chatting, holding your hand, watching the kids run around. It’s you I want beside me, around me. It’s you who I want to see first thing in the morning, the last voice I want to hear. It’s you I want with me everywhere I go, you who I wish was in my bed every night.** _

_ **I hope you have the birthday and Valentine’s Day you deserve. I wish I could give it to you.** _

_ **Yours,** _   
_ ** Rick** _

Her heart hammered in her ears as Michonne read the note through, once, twice, and then a third time. She could hear the twang of his accent in her mind, his breathless pants from that night months ago. A heat filled her, an all-too-familiar longing. She picked up her phone, dialing the number she’d memorized.

The kids answered. Michonne fixed a smile on her face, thanking them, listening to them sing to her. Rick’s laugh came from somewhere in the background, stealing her breath again.

“Happy Birthday, Michonne,” he drawled when his phone returned to him at last.

He looked a bit of a mess, to be honest, clearly home from a long day at work. His hair was disheveled, the curls fleeing the brushed back style he seemed to frequent, and a 5 o’clock shadow dusted his chin. Michonne flushed just to look at him.

“Thank you,” she smiled, hoping she looked calmer than she felt. “I got your card.”

Rick went scarlet at once, his blush unmistakable even through the screen. He stammered something that Michonne barely heard. Her mind was filled with possibilities, heart-felt desires she’d spent the better part of a year trying to quash.

The buzzing continued when Zeke called, driving Michonne to cancel their date, to the man’s confusion. She felt bad, really, but there was no stopping it. If Rick could be honest with her, then she might as well be honest with herself.

She called Rick again, pulse racing, her damp hair hanging down her back, her pajamas brushing heated skin beneath cotton fabric. He picked up on the second ring. Her blood ran red-hot when she saw that he too was in bed, wearing not much more than a smile.

It escalated quickly from there, a hushed conversation leading to where she was now, namely laying back across her mattress, her phone balanced on the pillow next to her, her pajama pants kicked around her ankles, her hands wandering. She called to mind the feeling of Rick’s calloused palms, the groan that escaped his lips when he’d dipped his fingers into her shorts.

He was making plenty of noise now, the sounds dropping from him unbidden. Michonne wished he was there, the heat of him pressed against her, his mouth crushed to hers. She bit back a moan, arching when Rick responded enthusiastically.

“Fuck, Michonne…” the filthy word sent a thrill through her. “Look at you. You’re so damn beautiful. Been missing you so much--”

She gasped, not trusting herself to speak, barely able to think. Rick was undeterred.

“Let me see you,” he requested, voice clipped. His hair was a mess, the curls mussed as he lay back against his headboard. His chest was flushed, and she was clearly not alone in touching herself.

She angled the camera down, gasping again as he responded to the sight.

“Jesus,” he choked. “If I was there, Michonne--”

The thought thrilled her. Her imagination ran wild, sending heat flooding through her body. She squeezed her legs together, wishing that it was his hands on her. “What would you do?” she asked.

He inhaled sharply, looking tortured by the question. He set his phone down beside him, giving her a full view and his full attention. “First?” he asked, chest heaving as he drew in shaky breaths. “I think I’d taste you.”

Rick had quite the list. Michonne barely got in a word edgewise, though she didn’t much mind. She’d been fantasizing about him espousing his feelings for so long. His rumbling tone was enough to send her over the edge multiple times. She wondered afterwards if she should be worried about how quickly Rick Grimes managed to take her apart, or concerned that the two most shattering climaxes of her life had been delivered by him without him even entering her.

She supposed there was a lot she should be worried about when it came to her and Rick, but she couldn’t bring herself to think about that now. She fell asleep beneath her covers, still naked, Rick’s voice ringing in her ears.

-l-l-l-l-l-

They sank deeper into the sand, the blanket beneath them wrinkling as the couple writhed on top of it. In the distance, the sun was beginning to set, casting a glow across the empty beach. The ocean was no less beautiful in the winter, but decidedly more deserted, an opportunity that they eagerly seized upon.

Rick’s skin was golden in the fading light, tracing against hers reverently, cutting paths up the curves of her calves, the slope of her thighs, the softness of her breasts. Michonne held tightly to him, nails scraping the smooth expanse of his back as he lavished her with open-mouthed, sucking kisses.

His hands found the negligible fabric of her bikini sliding beneath to cup her, drawing a loud moan from Michonne’s mouth. He silenced her with another deep kiss, quickly divesting her of the little clothing that lay between them.

She tugged at the laces of his board shorts, working the knot loose. Rick’s hands covered hers, assisting her with pushing them down his waist. The cool air swirled between them, chilly, save for their heated skin. Rick’s mouth descended on hers again, desperate, almost rough. She eagerly responded, sighing against his lips.

The sound of her pleasure had the effect that it always did on her lover. He pulled back, grinning wickedly.

“Happy Birthday,” he whispered into her ear, chuckling at the shiver that ran through her. He pulled her firmly beneath him, shielding her body with his own. She curled a leg up along his waist, gasping with delight when he hooked a hand around her hips.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” her sentiment transformed into a moan as his fingers found her, teasing with light touches.

He pressed deeper when she hiked her legs higher, eager as always for his affections. Rick let out a throaty groan when he felt the heat of her.

“Damn Chonne,” the words were a gravelly whisper. “You got something for me?”

In answer, she leaned up to kiss him, lacing a hand in his hair as she pulled him down more firmly on top of her. “It’s my birthday,” she panted against him. “You’re supposed to give me a present.”

Rick laughed. His hand tightened around hers, their fingers latticed together against the worn cotton surface beneath them. “I’ve got a few things for you,” he admitted. “Which present do you want first?”

A few feet away, a picnic basket sat in the sand, largely forgotten. Michonne was content to ignore it. She groped down the hard lines of his body until she could clutch him. His breath turned into a tortured hiss.

“This one,” she answered, arching up.

Rick pressed himself against her, tantalizingly close. She was tempted to erase the modicum of space between them, but her lover had other plans. He held her hips down, teasing her. Michonne clutched his shoulders, her eyes squeezed shut, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Shuddering cries were escaping her as she wiggled her hips, her desperation increasing.

He gave in painfully slowly, easing in inch by inch while she moaned and writhed beneath him. When their hips met, he pulled backwards, gaining speed on his next thrust. Michonne braced her feet flat, meeting him movement for movement.

The waves beat rhythmically in the distance, in time with the delicious push and pull of their bodies. Rick kissed her again, his tongue keeping pace. A heat began to fill Michonne, rushing up her spine in delicious jolts of pleasure.

She tossed her head back, shaking as Rick released her to hook his hands beneath her hips.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his voice low and clipped.

Michonne nodded frantically, panting moans escaping as she sought to answer him. “More,” she begged, “baby, please--”

She didn’t get a chance to finish as Rick’s lips crashed down on hers once more. He pulled her legs higher still, leaning down to dive as deep as possible. Michonne’s mind went numb, the whole of her consumed with him.

RIck slowed down, levering himself over her, giving her a moment to collect herself. Michonne ran her hands down his back, holding tight.

“I got you,” he promised, brushing his lips against her cheek.

Michonne nodded. “I love you,” she reminded him, tugging at his hair.

“I love you too,” he affirmed, holding her closer still.

She’d missed him this week, missed the kids, the familiar comforts of a home that felt more and more like her own these days. Her apartment in the city seemed ions away, a past life that she was disconnecting from.

“I’ve got something else for you,” Rick told her. He began leaning towards the picnic basket but soon became derailed as she tightened around him.

Michonne wrapped her legs around him, rolling them over so it was Rick sprawled beneath her on the blanket. “Oh yeah?” she asked.

He nodded, flushed, his hair an absolute wreck. His fingers dug into her ass as she settled on top of him, winding her hips in the way she knew he liked. “I’ve got to ask you something before I give it to you though,” his voice was strained.

Michonne’s heart skipped and her rhythm stuttered as she fell forward into him. “Rick…” she began, overcome.

He sat up, wrapping her in his arms, thrusting upwards until she was panting again. She fell over the edge, but this time he came with her, holding them both still until they returned to earth again.

“If you think we’re ready,” he ventured, his face pressed against her flushed skin, “I’d love to ask.”

She leaned down to kiss him, cupping his face between both hands. “Ask me,” she prompted, smiling at him.

Rick grinned back. “Chonne, will you marry me?”

Michonne pressed her forehead to his, her answer right on the tip of her tongue.

“Yes,” she said.

-l-l-l-l-l-

The door to the Grimes’ house burst open, admitting the members out and onto the sand. Carl came first, his long hair pulled into a sloppy nub, rushing on long legs towards the head high waves far off in the distance.

Judith was next, holding a board of her own, meandering more slowly, her eyes on the beach before her. She paused to pick up a shell before following her brother, her braided hair swinging.

“Mom!” She called behind her. “Are you coming?”

Michonne appeared on the porch, adjusting her bright purple swimsuit. “Hold on Judes,” Michonne said back. “Your dad is coming too.”

She turned to look back into the house, resting her hands on the gentle slope of a baby bump that seemed to be growing by the minute.

“You’re sticking to the low swells today, right?” Rick asked, pulling the door shut behind him.

“I promise,” Michonne kissed him. With a wink, she picked up her board and followed an expectant Judith.

“Alright,” Rick mumbled to himself. He traipsed onto the sand on bouncy steps. The water was warm this morning, a blessing. He dipped his feet in, setting the surfboard down into the ocean. “You ready?” he asked.

The chubby toddler in Rick’s arms scrambled down and tentatively into the surf. He began to laugh in delight as the waves licked at his tiny brown feet.

“Come on, RJ.” Rick scooped his youngest son up, settling Rick Jr in front of him before paddling out.

Carl and Judith were already in motion, racing one another. Michonne was waiting in the shallows, bobbing serenely on her board.

“Hi mommy,” RJ greeted, waving round little fingers.

“Be good on daddy’s board, ok big boy?” She kissed their son then Rick in turn. She adjusted the straps of RJ’s life jacket.

“You be good too,” Rick cautioned his wife.

Michonne splashed at him before resting one hand on her belly. “You forgetting who taught you all to surf?” she challenged.

“Never,” Rick paddled off with a grin, listening to Michonne’s laugh and Carl and Judith whooping in the distance.

“Come on, RJ,” Rick prompted. “Let’s show off for mommy.”

Rick took the delighted squeal he got in answer as agreement.


End file.
